


La Scène

by 43501



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-04-24 07:12:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4910098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/43501/pseuds/43501
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stage lights blare, a song with a heavy four-to-the-floor dance beat resounds in the air, beckoning you to dance. Would you smooch a ghost? [Mettaton x Reader, heavy kissing and some romance.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	La Scène

Sweat runs in rivulets down your jaw, beading and trickling from every pore in your body, sparkling like glitter beneath the harsh and heavy floodlights. Imposing speakers sprung up on either side of the impromptu stage blare with inspired, fast-paced music. Your world pulses in time with the reverberating deep bass, the tremors of the music crawling up your legs from the dance floor, vibrations creeping into your bones.

“Darlings and gentledarlings!” Mettaton’s amplified voice rises above the booming music, flawless and showman-like now that he was in a humanoid form, “Our contestant has certainly shown us their moxie! But can they keep going?!”

“You’re damn right I have moxie.” You quake at the suddenness of your own voice bellowing from the speakers. “I’ve had enough of this. I’ll push past you and on to the capital, no matter what it takes.” You’re honest in your statement, as cheesy as the delivery was, but you also know the fastest way through Mettaton was by playing into his show for the time being.

“My, my! So aggressive! I love it!” The cybernetic entertainer’s words are condescending, but the ecstasy in his voice betrays his barely-concealed excitement. “Very well! You’ve come this far already, show me the stuff you’re made of!”

In a flash, he closes the appreciable gap between you with his long strides and slings a long, robotic arm in your direction. You duck on instinct and it sails over your head. You attempt to hit back, jamming your elbow into his abdomen. When it connects, all it does is push him back slightly and make your eyes water heavily with the pain of it.

He makes another move toward you. You’re primed to react offensively and you make an attempt to swing at him, deprived of your soul energy for the time being. He catches your arm as though he anticipated -- no, wanted -- that reaction and roughly reels you in toward him, pressing his lips to yours.

His mouth was made of something different, something impossibly smooth and malleable. This is the last coherent thought that skips across your synapses before his black tongue, akin to an agile lump of soft silicone, breaks past your teeth and into the warm cavern of your mouth. Mettaton’s cold metallic nose slides past yours as he tilts your mouths askew to deepen the kiss, expertly sweeping over your palate and circling his tongue slowly around yours. He sighs, a sudden burst of air pumping out of his artificial lungs and filling your chest, lukewarm and lacking any animal heat, vaguely reminiscent of exhaust. The close air smells of expensive perfume on steel.

In your periphery, you see the ebbing lines of the gigantic multicolored LED screen displaying the show’s ratings incline sharply. The machine is dinging wildly in an explosion of color and skyrocketing numbers.

The robot releases you suddenly and your feet almost give out from under you when he tears away, backflipping effortlessly, light as a feather. He bounces in place, arms akimbo with the stage lights gleaming off his polished body.

You shake yourself off and brace your stance, your focus returning.

“Oh, dear... Letting down your guard like that! I know you’re enamored with me, darling, but to think you’d falter so easily!” 

You wipe the corner of your mouth with a sleeve, though the saliva clinging there was only your own. “Don’t underestimate me.”

“You say that after your misstep? How bold! Very well. I won’t hold back anymore. I’ll break through the barrier and shine like a star! Come, have a heart-to-heart with me!”

You’re only given a second of repose to ponder the meaning of those words before Mettaton pulls a ball of gleaming yellow energy from the heart-shaped affectation at his core. His body twists into a dramatic pirouette, the music soaring to crescendo as he casts the essence of his soul into the air above him. It hangs there, suspended and shining brilliantly while the robot dances below with abandon, laughing and smiling.

When the music crests, a torrent of sparks of magical energy burst forth from his soul and rain down onto the stage. Your body desperately lurches left and right. Every fiber in your body engages when your feet take the lead, leaping and bounding from place to place in wild attempt to take as little damage as possible.

A bolt flashes past you and grazes your arm. It burns intensely and sends a shock through your body. You can’t afford to recoil from the pain of it. You have keep moving as the sparks pour in relentlessly from above, twisting your aching body into the safe spaces in between.

You notice the cameras turned on you. You feel like you’re floundering, and the feeling wears at your determination. Several more bolts strike you, in the shoulder and chest in rapid succession.

The outpour ceases for a moment and Mettaton pauses mid-dance, holding a pose, “Aw, getting tired already? Come on, darling! Keep up!”

Your eyes grow wide in awful realization as the music hits a second peak and the rain of energy that accompanies it is twice as dense as last time. You quickly toss your whole body aside, rolling across the floor, desperate and looking for a strategy. And that’s when it hits you.

Time seems to slow to a crawl. You fix on Mettaton, who is center stage and dancing in perfect time with the music as the light of his soul scatters about the area. His eyes are fluttered shut, mouth pulled into a wide, contented smile as his body twists and turns.

You know what to do now.

The music rings clearly in your ears. Your heart pounds in your head, in perfect sync with the beat. You step audaciously forward into the throes of the sparks. You keep stepping closer and closer, your steps transitioning into skips and bounds, your movements evolving into dance.

You dance with him under the electric rain.

The energy of it all blots everything from your mind: the cameras, the mission, your impending fate, the friends you left behind. You and the robot dance in perfect synchrony, mirroring each other’s movements, moving together beneath the lights and cameras. 

As you turn your body, flawlessly avoiding the projectiles, your gaze briefly meets with Mettaton’s own. He’s watching you closely with what feels like a genuine sense of affection and admiration, eyes soft and smile gleaming. Your heart leaps in your chest at how painfully beautiful he is.

Then, you remember his earlier intrusion. You become inflamed. On a moment of pure impulse, your entire body lurches forward and into him, knocking him clear off his feet and bowling him to the ground. The impression of his soul above fades instantaneously.

“Oof...” Mettaton winces as you suddenly seize him by the hair. You trap thick wads of silky, synthetic locks between your fingers and curl them into a fist, forcing his head to look at you whilst you hover over him.

“I’m not gonna let you get the best of me, Mettaton. This is repayment for earlier. You want your damn ratings? Here, you can have them.”

As you move to close the gap, the last thing you see is Mettaton’s handsome face shifting into an expression of pure, unadulterated shock. You find it near impossible to suppress your grin as you press your mouth against his, wasting no time in forcing his mouth open to kiss him deeply. Your tongue dominates his this time, one hand closed on a fistful of his hair, the other pinning a wrist to the ground above his head.

Off to the side, the machine displaying ratings dings uncontrollably, just short of a continuous drone.

When you release his wrist to drag your hand down the front of his metal chassis, the robot shivers perceptibly. He begins to moan into the kiss, arching his back off the ground and up into your hand, as though unsatisfied with the gentleness of your touch. Deciding to satisfy him for the time being, you press your palm firmly against the panel of his chest and rub. You already had the upper hand for the time being -- you could afford him some mercy.

Your hand clamps down tighter on his hair as you pause mid-kiss to bite down hard on his lower lip. Mettaton’s entire body convulses in response, the soft moans let out into your mouth changing gear into desperate near-orgasmic cries.

A sense of power surges through you. Your blood boils, fueled by his reactions. Somehow, you’re certain that the way he’s getting lost in your kiss is completely genuine, though it must’ve seemed an act to the cameras. You exhale, prying every corner of his mouth with the tip of your tongue, doubling the intensity of the first kiss.

When you finally cut away, leering down at him through the hair falling into your face, he whispers something breathlessly to you, so quiet it isn’t picked up by any of the microphones.

“Perfect, beautiful... we’re knocking them dead.”

You finally feel like you understand. You and Mettaton briefly exchange knowing glances as he pulls out from under you, your fingers unable to find purchase as they slide uselessly out of his silken hair and off his glossy chassis. 

He twists loose and pirouettes to his feet, you following suit, to continue the show.


End file.
